


Revelation

by ClementineStarling



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, vaguely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 18:50:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4798532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClementineStarling/pseuds/ClementineStarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is the mirror in which Hannibal can truly see himself. Admire the image of his genius and his wickedness. He has made him – pushed him into madness, respun the tale of his identity, carved away the fear and the qualms. And now at last he has taught him the hunger.</p><p>And now at last he must bear the consequence, Will thinks, for his taste for flesh knows different flavours, and his appetites are more common than Hannibal might have expected.</p><p><b>Warning</b>: rough sex, dubcon-overtones, not really porn</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revelation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaqueline_nutweasel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqueline_nutweasel/gifts).



Hannibal is all shining surface, brilliant, sophisticated, civilised.  
So dazzling with his pristine suit, razor-sharp mind and handsome appearance. But once you peel that away--  
Once you peel that away, Hannibal is all base desire, hungry and feral and ruthless.

Two sides of the same coin, light and shadow, inseparable, and Will has seen him for it. Has stared into the glare for so long, he's gone blind, and now who'd be better to comprehend the unfathomable depths of Hannibal's darkness?

Will is the link, and he is the mirror.  
In him, the paradox comes together. The narrative is whole.  
In him, the reflection breaks. Shatters into a thousand pieces. 

In Will, Hannibal can truly see himself. Admire the image of his genius and his wickedness. He has made him – pushed him into madness, respun the tale of his existence, carved away the fear and the qualms. And now at last he has taught him the hunger.

And now at last he must bear the consequence, Will thinks, for his taste for flesh knows different flavours, and his appetites are more common than Hannibal might have expected. 

“How very _male_ of you to desire me like this, Will”, Hannibal remarks slightly amused, when Will presses him down on the bed, heavy with anger and arousal, but he lets him. At first with a certain air of superiority, of indulgence, an arrogance that Will wants to destroy like nothing before in his life. Then, as Will claws at the smug mask with ferocious animal fingers, and it begins to crack, revealing a glimpse of the darkness lying in wait, with the patience of the wolf pretending to be a sheep. He can see it in his eyes, how this has ceased to be a joke, even though Lecter still laughs at his efforts. “Don't you find it peculiar that in the end everything men ever think about is fucking?” What a crude generalisation. Not all men. Even Freud must have know that. Some lust for other things. And what does the narcissist love but himself? And what is Will but a gorgeous reflection? Hannibal surrenders to himself, groans under Will's mouth, as he bites and sucks at his skin until his true colours bloom to the surface, and it is not entirely from the pain of it.

Will has never seen Hannibal truly naked, because nudity has nothing to do with his clothes. Even without his elegant outfits, without a shred of fabric covering his skin, Hannibal Lecter is never really exposed, not as bare as Will would have him. He longs to strip him for real – peel off layer upon layer upon layer, until he reaches the nightmare that dwells under his well-mannered appearance, hides behind select wardrobe and sharp intellect. That creature fashioned from desire, ascending from the unconscious like the beast from the sea, a being that is neither good nor evil anymore, but simply is.

Will has his hand around Hannibal's throat while glides over him, every possible inch of naked skin pressed together like the pages of a book. This is how their story falls into place. 

Hannibal keens as Will is grinding their cocks together, slick between their bellies; his lungs must have begun to burn with the lack of oxygen, but still he doesn't fight, and his arousal is as obvious, as hard and as eager as Will's. He wants this, needs it perhaps just as much as Will, and that is all Will needs to know.

He loosens his grip a little and feeds Hannibal his own breath, and how greedily he gulps the life from Will's lips. Hannibal, the name has become sweet as blood on his tongue. He wants to devour him. Him who has fed on his mind like the sea ate away at the shore, relentlessly, until little was left, until sanity frayed and morals corroded. 

He knows him now, intimately, better than he has ever known himself, he has become him, has shed his skin, and now he will teach him the meaning of it. There are more ways to consume a human than simply to absorb their brilliance and incorporate the flesh. It is not necessarily the knife that penetrates, and it does not need to hurt.

Will is almost gentle – almost, considering his wrath and his passion – when he spears his fingers inside Hannibal, into that vulnerable tightness, that gives way so readily as if his hands were truly fashioned from steel. He is looking into Hannibal's eyes, that are wide as the night sky, while he seeks for the cluster of nerves that will make the stars explode in that dark. Brushes his finger tips carefully against it, when he's found it. So much of carnal pleasure is about art and finesse, he has learned, and he relishes the perfectly-orchestrated symphony of stimuli, the smell and taste and feel and sound of it: the tension in the limbs, the sudden spasm of muscle, the twitching of Hannibal's cock, the desperate noises that fall from his lips, the feverish brightness in the black of his eyes.

He runs his thumb over the pink glans of Hannibal's cock, absent-mindedly, as if unaware of the sound he evokes; he collects a drop of precome and licks it from his own finger, goes back for another and gives Hannibal a taste of his own pleasure, his thumb pulling on his lower lip, not entirely gentle. But Hannibal opens his mouth and swallows eagerly, the bob of his Adam's apple unspeakably enticing. Will wants to lean down to suck and to bite at it again, but instead he pushes his fingers deep into this reverent mouth, a holy communion, _take and eat; this is my body_ , mocking the rhythm of his other hand between Hannibal's legs.

And Will watches and observes. Takes notes in his mind to remember the truth of it later, the first glimpses he caught of Hannibal beyond composure and pretence, beyond the staging of his slaughters, on _his_ turf for once. It will take a while to take him apart completely, just like Hannibal has stripped him, broken him, piece by piece, and perhaps even longer to put him back together again. But Will is certain it will be worth the effort.

Hannibal is already dazed with the imminence of crisis, when Will thrusts into him at last, settles himself root-deep in that delightful mortal body, rocking into him like the sea whips against the shores, his senses overwhelmed with the scent of salt and rust and life.

__

“Let me take you hunting tonight”, Hannibal whispers afterwards, when they lie curled into each other, sated and lazy, the brush of their lips only the ghosts of kisses on their skin, and Will is almost surprised to feel another kind of hunger stirring in his belly.

**Author's Note:**

> I must admit I've never _really_ shipped Hannigram until Season 3, simply for the fact that it's all so perfect in canon, that I did not feel the urge to fill in the blanks. They were what they were, oddly and intrinsically entwined, but I read Hannibal as a hopeless narcissist who was quite satisfied with forming Will in his image, and Will as leaning somewhat towards the asexual. I still think that their desires are only very, very mediately sexual. One of the great appeals of the series is that it feels like a story-book-assembly of Freudian concepts come to life. It's obvious everything is ultimately about sex (apart from sex, ah, this quote keeps haunting me), so well yeah - why the porn?
> 
> But now I needed some distraction from my current Blackwood/Coward-obsession, and [this post by willspaddle@tumblr](http://willspaddle.tumblr.com/post/128928802775/one-of-the-best-things-about-hannigram-is-that-all) has been the ultimative incentive, because it said 'anything goes' (and I agree; essentially the two characters are as open to interpretation as blank canvas when it comes to their genuinely sexual preferences, so I spun them into my usual sick little web. Sorry for the fluff faction, I hope you forgive me my trespasses). Also Jaq needs some fuel to write a fic of her own, don't you darling? (Pretty, pretty, pretty please)


End file.
